


Baker's New Wife

by WildcatPacer



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 08:43:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20273152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildcatPacer/pseuds/WildcatPacer
Summary: "There is a BANG!... and the crowd scrambles back... I gape in horror. There has never been a murder or other fatality quite like this in years, at least not as long as I have been alive. Cadets are usually trained to only use violence when strictly necessary. From the gaping look on the young Peacekeeper's face, it is clear he hadn't thought through what he was doing." Enjoy!





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Dormant Lust Awakened **

I trudge through the gray gravel through Town back towards the boundary line that separates it from my home in the Seam. I have just finished the day's trades in the Hob, and promised Mother that I would be home by lunchtime. It is Sunday, the miners' day off, and I am preparing myself for a restful remainder of the morning and afternoon here in District 12. You have to find rest here where you can, because in this hardscrabble district, most of us starve to death in safety.

I jostle through the crowded center of Town in front of the Justice Building. As I reach the opposite edge of the Square, I suddenly hear a commotion rising above the din. Gasps and shouts split the air, and I turn back to watch the show. Life in Twelve can be pretty monotonous and dull, so when anything happens, you darn well had better hope you are close by to get a good seat.

Through a gap in the crowd of gawking onlookers, I can see a middle-aged woman being harassed by some Peacekeepers. From her clothes alone, she looks Merchant, and as her head snaps my way, baring her teeth like a rabid dog, I recognize her immediately: it is the Merchant Baker's wife. Most people refer to her as 'The Witch' because she is said to have a nasty temper. I have been fortunate enough to avoid her at the back loading dock and alley behind the Bakery, when I make the daily squirrel trade with the family, but I have heard rumors that she even beats her own sons - three strapping boys with gold-spun hair, blue eyes and Aryan looks.

"A thief? Me? Do you know who I am? I'm the Baker's wife!" she is screaming at the white-plated officers trying to restrain her. She actually makes furious moves towards them, and I have to admire her guts. She looks like she actually has every intention to attack them. Even in a copacetic district like Twelve, where our Peacekeeping force largely leaves us alone and even looks the other way on illegal dealings (heck, some officers are even in on the take themselves, some paying with goods, some with sex), it is never a good idea to physically assault an officer of the Capitol. Hopefully, this can be resolved calmly. I don't think I have ever seen a Peacekeeper use their weapon before; Cray probably turns to the policy only as a last resort.

All at once, one of the Peacekeepers - he looks to be a young cadet, one that I have never seen before, flashes something out from his hip. There is a BANG!, a chorus of screams, and the crowd scrambles back in audible shock to reveal the Baker's wife sprawled on the cobblestones, blood oozing from her temple and a gunshot wound to the head.

I gape in horror. There has never been a murder or other fatality quite like this in years, at least not as long as I have been alive. Cadets are usually trained to only use violence when strictly necessary. From the gaping look on the young Peacekeeper's face, it is clear he hadn't thought through what he was doing. Damn fool! Probably fresh off the train and still trigger-happy from the Academies back in District 2. And now there is blood on his hands.

I watch as several strong miners step forward to lift the body of the Witch. I don't stay any longer to find out what happens after. I break into a run, out of the Square and across the Seam-Town line for home...

* * *

I burst into our ramshackle house, panting and out of breath. I nearly trip over the damn cat and desperate to get this energy out of my system, I give it a hard kick that sends it howling in search of my little sister, Prim. Mother, clad in a frock and apron, comes bustling in with a small smile.

"Did you have a good walk, dear?" she asks me.

"Hunt," I correct her. Mother and I are cordial, and in the past year have even developed something that resembles affection. Mother shut down emotionally for a long time after my daddy died in a mine explosion when I was 11; I mostly raised Prim. After a time, I encouraged - no, begged - her to seek treatment, even gathering some of the herbal remedies myself when she asked me to. Now, at 16, I can look at my mother and say she is on the mend. Moving on.

Mother now stops short as she gets a good look at my face. "Katniss, what's wrong? You look as though you've seen a ghost!"

"Something happened... in the Square..." I gasped.

Mother grips my chin, turning my skull from side to side, examining me. "Was it a Peacekeeper? Did he act fresh? Did he touch you?" Mother instilled in her girls the importance of consent, and the legal age of consent for marriage and sex here is 16. Even so, I would never let a man near my most intimate of places. I'm never getting married. Never having sex. I will die a virgin, a spinster, before birthing children of some man only for them to be Reaped for the sick Hunger Games.

"A fight broke out... the Baker's wife... they accused her of being a thief and she resisted arrest... A new cadet shot her... she's dead."

Mother brings a hand to her mouth, gasping in horror. Right away, I realize how this news might actually be hard for her. Mother grew up Merchant before running away to marry my Seam father. With her blond hair, blue eyes and pale, unblemished alabaster skin, she is still striking at scarcely 40. When she wears some of her old Merchant frocks from time to time, brought with her in an old trunk during her exodus, she looks beautiful. Mother wearily sits down in a chair, staring at the wall. I peer at her curiously.

"Did you know her?" I ask, trying to sound gentle.

She nods dumbly. "Yes... I knew her..." she sighs. "Poor Steffan..."

I frown. I didn't know Mother and the Baker were on a first name basis. Mother must read my thoughts, for she gives me a sad smile. "We were childhood friends in school, he and I. And I was acquainted to Paula, though she ran in slightly different circles." She sighs again. "This is going to be hard for him..."

I hardly think that's true. From the little I've observed, the Baker and the Witch seemed to be trapped in a loveless marriage. Many Merchant marriages are like that - politically strategic alliances to keep businesses in the family. Some Merchants even arrange marriages for their children from the time they are small. In such arrangements, economic security takes precedent over romantic love. Though love might blossom later, it usually doesn't. It didn't for the Baker. No, the Baker might grieve a little bit, but inside he probably won't be able to believe his luck. Luck to be free from such tyranny.

Mother finally stands and wipes her hands on her dress. "I should probably prepare some cooking. It's tradition for there to be a wake within 24 hours of the deceased's passing. It will probably happen tonight, so we should be ready to go, to pay our respects."

I frown. "Paying what?" If anyone deserves respect, it sure as hell isn't the Witch.

Mother eyes me hard. "Katniss... you may not have liked the woman... hell, I didn't either... but Steffan is going to need someone to help him grief, and I've been there. I know what it's like to be a widow."

I immediately feel chastened. If Mother feels this is the best way she can help out her friend, who am I to stop her? I nod, and stand, moving towards the stairs to us girls' room. "I'll go get Primrose."

* * *

Digging through Mother's old trunk, I quickly find my blue Reaping dress. A hand-me-down from Mother, it is the nicest article of clothing I own, and is usually only worn once a year, at the Reaping for the Hunger Games. But for special occasions, it can work just as nicely.

I get Prim dressed in her white blouse and frock, doing her blond hair into pigtails. Then, I let my mother braid my brown hair, so that it runs down my back.

It is dusk by the time we reach the Bakery. I see all three of the Baker's sons - I only know the name of the youngest, Peeta, because he's in my year in school - standing around in a fog. The middle boy, however, looks like he's sorely tempted to break out into a beaming smile and turn this into a party. Mother steps forward and hugs the Baker.

"I'm so sorry, Steffan. Come to me anytime, if you want to talk."

The Baker, a kind, sweet-faced man with a nice smile, stretches his mouth tight, wanly. "Thank you, Lillian."

I don't remember anything else about the event. Prim and I mostly just remain anchored to one table in the front of the shop, clutching cups of tea and looking awkward. Decidedly out-of-place. All the Mellarks' Merchant neighbors keep giving us dirty looks; we were the only Seamers to show up. It is a relief when Mother calls that it is time to go, as we are the last to leave. I pull Primrose out of the Bakery, but turn back when I see Mother has not followed. The Baker is talking to Mother very earnestly, though I can't make out what he is saying. In response, Mother nods and smiles before exiting the shop.

"What was that all about?" Prim asks for the both of us.

"Primrose... mind your business," Mother chides her gently.

* * *

The next night, I am down at the kitchen table doing homework when Mother descends the stairs, clad in one of her Merchant dresses. I raise an eyebrow in surprise. It is a frock I have not seen her wear in a long time, burgundy in color with a patterned skirt. The bodice shows off ever-so-slightly too much cleavage, at least too much for my tastes.

"Where are you going?"

"Out," Mother replies simply. "I'm having dinner with the Baker tonight. I should be back late; make sure Primrose gets to bed on time."

I gape at her, and am about to say a jumble of things, ask a jumble of questions, but Mother glides out the door and into the night.

* * *

I am awoken later that night, in the bed Primrose and I still have to share, by the key turning in the lock downstairs. Mother must be home. Feeling a bit thirsty anyhow, I rise and steal across the hall to get a sip of water. On my way back, however, I pause at the entrance to the staircase, when I hear voices. Laughing. Inquisitive, I slip down the stairs and pause on a landing, where - turning my eyes around the corner and down, I can see into our living area. Mother and the Baker are talking and chuckling together. My brow furrows, flummoxed. When Mother told me she was seeing the Baker tonight, I had presumed she was going to begin helping him through his grief and introducing him to his new life as a widower. So why does it sound like they actually had a good time? Like they... went on a date? Mother has never seen anybody since my father passed, didn't seem interested in dating or other courtship.

"Steffan, you always were such a tease..." Mother chuckles. Her voice is light and airy in a way I haven't heard it in years.

"Only because I always knew I could make you laugh," Steffan banters. His voice grows serious, somber. "I've missed you all these years, Lillian. It is nice to talk and laugh with you again." In a gesture that is strangely intimate, he reaches out a paw of a hand and tucks a stray lock of blond hair behind Mother's ear. "I never got over you..."

Huh?

Mother's eyes are wide and luminous in the dim light. She opens her mouth to say something...

... But then her face is nearly swallowed by the Baker's large hands as, tilting her head back, he presses his mouth to hers. He _kisses_ her!

I can see Mother's eyes go even wider, hear a little gasp, but the Baker deftly swoops one hand low about her slim waist and pulls her closer.

And then, the most amazing thing happens. Mother... closes her eyes. "Mmmhmmmmm..." she purrs deep in her throat. Twisting her lips into his, her hands reaching up to sink into his blond hair, she kisses him back. Encouraged, the hand at her waist dips lower, cupping the fleshy curve of her ass. Aroused, Mother boldly raises her leg high, and the Baker catches her thigh, hitching it around his waist.

Relieved that she has no intention of going anywhere, the Baker's remaining hand leaves Mother's head and boldly reaches out to grope her breast. She should push him away now for that, but instead, Mother spreads her legs and pulls the Baker in between her thighs with a deep, guttural groan. "Hmmmm... yes, more, please," she rasps, breaking the kiss and pushing her breasts up against the Baker's toned muscles. Then she takes the Baker's head and pushes his face into the valley of her breasts, where he begins to feast. Stumbling backward, the pair sink onto the living room couch, where Mother opens her knees. I avert my eyes quickly, but can still hear the clang of a belt buckle, can still hear the creak of the couch springs, can still hear Mother's groans and sighs and the Baker's grunts as they... have sex...

"Uhhh... Huhhhh... Muhhhhh... Mmmmm... Fuck! Steffan..."

"Urrrr... God, Lillian... I love you... so much..."

I can't believe it. The Baker _kissed_ my mother! The Baker is _making love_ to my mother! And Mother kissed him back, and is fucking him just as passionately. Thoroughly shaken, I pad as quickly as I can without being loud back to Primrose's and my bedroom and fling myself under the covers.


	2. Joining of Two Families

**Chapter 2: Joining of Two Families**

When Mother sits both of her girls down and tells us that she and the Baker are to be wed, I pretend to be stunned at the news. As if I didn't see my mother openly kissing a man who is not my father in our own house. Defile our living room couch to have sex, with the same man who is not my father. The ceremony will occur in a matter of days - first the singing of the marriage license papers at the Justice Building, followed by the customary Toasting at the Bakery, to where we will all soon be moving.

I am flummoxed. Maybe even a little livid. My ire is greater for the Baker, who seemed to move on so quickly from his wife's death. It makes me wonder if he and my mother were having a passionate love affair. If the Witch was knocked off in some staged set-up. But no, the Baker is too good a man to even contemplate any of that. Even so, many people will ask questions - if not over the hurried timing, then definitely over his chosen new bride. The Merchant woman cast out for marrying Seam trash won't just be welcomed back into her old fold with open arms. I have an uncle and two cousins on my mother's side who are apothecaries, and they disowned Mother after she married Daddy.

I never expected Mother to marry again. It was not something I generally wanted, either, as I hold Daddy's memory so close to my heart. But Mother appears so happy - happier than I have seen her in years - I do not think I can voice my misgivings without sounding like an ungrateful wretch. Mother endured enough objections - disownment, even - when she married my father.

"I will wear this for the Toasting," Mother giddily tells us as she pulls out one of her old Merchant dresses - burgundy in color. I hold my tongue from observing that it is the same dress the Baker probably ripped off of Mother with his teeth to fuck her like a wild dog. Primrose can't know that transpired. She is too young, her ears are too innocent. "And when I go to the Justice Building..." She opens her armoire "... the family wedding dress."

Primrose and I gawk. It is blinding white, made of the finest silk. Mother smiles amusingly at our shock. "It is our most precious family heirloom," she tells us proudly. "Someday, you both will wear it after me." I want to correct her and say that only Primrose will wear it after her, but I hold my tongue again.

"How did you inherit it?" Primrose asks in admiration.

Mother grins almost sheepishly, but maybe also a little smugly. "I stole it."

I gape. "You _stole_ it?!"

Mother bristles a little. "When your father and I eloped. It was in the family, and I knew that your grandparents would never give it to me to use in marriage to a Seam miner, so I took it with me when I fled Town."

After a moment, I send Mother a very weak smile. "That's... wonderful, Mother."

That night, as we lie together in bed, Primrose calls me out on my behavior. "I know what you're feeling. But Mother deserves this. And the Baker does too. He had it worse than Mother and Daddy ever did, slaving away in a loveless marriage to that... witch. He and Mother can both be happy again."

I roll over to face her. "I hope I am doing the right thing. Giving my blessing."

"You are," Prim assures me eagerly. "I'm proud of you. It means a lot to Mother."

I stroke her blonde hair affectionately. "When did you become so wise, Little Duck?"

She smirks. "Quack."

* * *

The day of the Toasting, Prim and I attend to Mother, adorning her in the family wedding dress. In our Reaping dresses as her bridesmaids, we Everdeen girls then make the long walk out of the Seam and into Town.

The journey seems markedly different from the countless times I have crossed over the border to make trades with the Merchants and in the Hob. It truly feels like we are making an exodus into a new life... and I am not sure if I like it at all.

We reach the Justice Building and are escorted to a tiny courthouse room, where the Baker and his three sons are waiting. The Baker is in a handsome tux, and his eyes shine when he sees Mother. Mother blushes acutely and glides forward with a beaming smile, Primrose and I holding up her train. Shyly, Mother takes the Baker's hand and they stand before the Justice of the Peace.

"Steffan Mellark, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, for rich and for poorer, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?"

"I do," the Baker's voice is strong and sure.

"Sign here, please." At the prompting, the District Clerk seated at the desk nudges forward a pen and a marriage license, to which the Baker affixes his signature. The Justice of the Peace turns to my mother.

"Lillian Everdeen, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, for rich and for poorer, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?"

"I do," Mother is positively beaming, the picture of the blushing bride.

"Sign here, please." Mother signs, then turns to her new legal husband expectantly. The Baker - Steffan - takes her in his arms and kisses her breathlessly. Primrose and I dutifully applaud; Peeta and the eldest brother, Leven, let out cheers and wolf-whistles. The middle son, Rye, lets loose a whoop, whips out a flare gun and shoots off a blank harmlessly into the ceiling... prompting one of the Peacekeepers stationed on duty to tackle him.

Mother and Steffan dreamily break the kiss at last, if also a little jarringly, startled by the fired-off round. Steffan just laughs and gives Rye a shove once the Peacekeeper gets off him. "Stop it," he chastises.

* * *

When a couple gets married in District 12, they are usually assigned a new house by the Justice Building. As my new stepfather is the owner of a well-established business, Mother and Steffan stroll back to the Bakery arm-in-arm, giddy and ignoring the gawking stares coming out of the neighbors' windows. Primrose, the Mellark boys and I trail a little ways behind, we girls carrying some first initial rucksacks of belongings over our shoulders, to begin our move into the Bakery.

"What do we do now?" Peeta asks to no one in particular.

"We'll just have to make the best of it," Leven huffs. Peeta eyes him, amused.

"You say that like this is a bad thing."

"Are you kidding?" Rye crows, hopping up onto a low stone wall and balancing along it. "This is the best thing to ever happen to us! Dad has been in love with Lillian for years, and she is the polar opposite to Mom! I like her; she's nice!"

I want to gawk at him. Steffan? In love with my mother for years? My head is swimming.

"He did ask her to marry him when they were kids," Peeta concedes. At that, I nearly fall over. Why didn't Mother tell me any of this?

We arrive back at the Bakery, the Mellark boys chatting and laughing, even joining Primrose into their conversation. Peeta tries to strike up a chat with me, but my answers are very stilted and he eventually leaves me alone. I have too much to think about, and I've never been the most social person anyway, especially when it comes to boys.

Mother and Steffan beat us back here by quite a bit; there is already a roaring fire going in the hearth. Soon, other Merchant families come trickling in to celebrate Mother and Steffan conducting their Toasting. It is tradition, Merchant and Seam alike, for a couple to toast a bit of bread in their new hearth and share it. It is supposed to seal their union; no one in District 12 feels truly married without it.

Most of the Merchant guests are genuinely supportive of Mother returning to her roots through matrimony. A few whisper and sneer snidely in private. Those people will never forgive Mother for her transgression. She married and slept with someone Seam. She gave birth to Seam babies. Once Seam, always Seam. It doesn't matter that she is crossing back over class lines. Her two marriages will always make her half-Merchant, half-Seam in some folks' eyes. Heck, Primrose and I are half-Merchant by blood. Scanning the crowd of faces, I note that I cannot spy my uncle or cousins.

A hush now falls over the crowd as Steffan extracts the piece of toasted bread from the fireplace. Breaking it in half, he holds out a piece to Mother. Smiling at him in tender amusement, she opens her mouth and lets him feed the piece to her. Then she returns the gesture. The Baker then sweeps Mother into an embrace, drawing her face quite close. Mother hesitates only for a moment, eyelids heavy and feeling a little shy, but then wraps him in her own close embrace. Tilting her head, her mouth slightly parted, their lips meet.

The crowd erupts in cheers as the kiss suddenly escalates in huge passion. Steffan and Mother nearly swallow each other's mouths whole, Mother sucking on Steffan's tongue greedily. Their eyes are firmly shut, lost in their dizzying kiss. Lost in their own world. Finally, they break apart with a soft POP! and share weak, loving smiles.

I can't help but allow a grin of my own as I applaud. I have never seen Mother so happy. Maybe, even though I will soon be living in Town with a new stepfather and three stepbrothers, I can be happy too.


	3. The Baker's Daughter

**Chapter 3: The Baker's Daughter**

My tentative desire to take Leven's advice and "make the best of it", as it were, is quickly dispelled within the first few months of us moving to the bakery. Even generally optimistic Primrose seems to be questioning whether this was such a good idea. Joining two families through law and holy matrimony seemed nice in theory, sealed with the stroke of a pen, a piece of toast and a kiss. But the real joining - that of two different lives and upbringings under one roof - is anything but nice. Or even remotely simple.

Mother and Steffan are so deliriously happy in their married life, they don't seem to notice how on-edge their children are. Even though, in a small way, the newlyweds are part of the problem. Entering the basement that doubles as the bakery storage room early one morning, I walked in on my stepfather going down on a wailing Mother in the most passionate throes of sex I have ever had the misfortune to witness. Many Seam kids my age experience their first time, or experiment with intercourse, by fucking each other at the Slag Heap. Often, the consenting pair are close friends who just want to get their virginity out of the way; for many Seamers, it is viewed as a right of passage. I never took part, as the thought revolted me. Though if I ever had been interested and asked some Seam boy like Thom Borden, he probably would have done the deed. Honestly, I would have asked Gale Hawthorne about sex, if he wasn't my cousin on my Daddy's side. Steffan and Mother, however, are two people who know how to make love, clearly know what they are doing, and are generally of the opinion that sex is a carnal, even rough act for the purposes of procreation. Oh, love and pleasure are involved, but for them, there is a pent-up energy that has to be let out, after wasting so much time. And they don't seem to be careful about it, or even want to be. Do they want to make a baby? Surely yes. Do they care that they very well may scar their five other children for life in the process, the youngest scarcely 12 years old? Apparently not. Mother and Steffan must figure most of us are grown. And indeed, I am a woman; I am not innocent in the ways of the world. But damn it if I'm going to let Primrose lose her innocence because Mother can't control herself around her new husband. I understand that she is in love, but she should have some discretion!

Then there are other issues. The Bakery was meant to house five people, maybe six if you squeezed. But certainly not seven, and it shows. The gender dynamics split right down the middle only make this claustrophobia worse. Having lived in a house full of women from before I was even a teenager, it is hard to get used to being more careful in modesty around the opposite sex. Despite having at least lived with one woman their entire lives (never mind the fact that they all despised her) the Mellark men are no better at learning this lesson than Primrose and I are. Rye once casually walks in on me while I'm using the toilet, and if I hadn't screamed, he probably would have continued his path to the sink and brushed his teeth without even noticing I was there. Another time, Peeta catches me naked as I finish my bath. Unlike his brother, he is slightly more of a gentleman and at least has some manners... though that didn't stop him from staring at my breasts and bushy cunt for a full three seconds before blushing beet red and stumbling out of the bathroom. It's a miracle he didn't pitch a tent; the idea that any one of my stepbrothers might be physically attracted to me is enough to want to make me throw up. Yet a third time, Primrose delivered some of Leven's clean laundry to find Leven jacking off on his bed. That was the biggest flashpoint; once Primrose came to me in tears over seeing a man's penis, I let Leven have it. Leven had the good graces to look chastened and take it like a man.

Then there are the brothers' personalities. They are all so different. Leven is the most like me: extremely reserved, even anti-social. Unlike me, he is also non confrontational; when I confronted him about masturbating in front of Primrose - however unintentional it was - he wilted like a flower. Rye actually took more offense to it than Leven did, getting in my face and coming to his brother's defense. There is too much fire between the two of us, and I quickly make a point of not ending up in the same room as Rye, if I can avoid it. At first, Primrose thinks there is some weird sexual tension between Rye and me, but I quickly set her straight. Even if Rye and I weren't now related by our parents' marriage, I wouldn't look twice at him. He's dull and he's dumb, a practical joker and far too immature for 18, with his final Reaping just a few months away.

Peeta, however, is an enigma. He is nice, even sweet, in a meek kind of way. But unlike Leven, unafraid to stand up for himself and be opinionated. Though he doesn't take it to the acerbic level of Rye. I suppose he is a moderate mix of his brothers' two extremes, and it's something I have to grudgingly admire him for. I have never been very good at making friends, and the ones I do have are few, but overtime Peeta gradually earns my respect.

At least there is someone in my new family who I can tolerate. Because with what is coming this summer, family is going to be more important than ever.

* * *

We have a tradition in District 12, set over the course of two nights. On Reaping Eve, and on the night after the Reaping, everyone has a candlelit, private dinner in their homes. The light of candles dancing in the windows on these two nights is a great source of comfort as we prepare for another Games, for another year of two teenagers being sent into an outdoor arena to fight to the death. On the second night, the only houses not lit are the two homes from which a tribute has been Reaped that year.

On Reaping Eve, we Mellarks and Everdeens gather in the dining room just off the bakery, our table and supper (wonderfully cooked by Mother) lit with candles. Clasping hands, we all bow our heads as Steffan begins to pray. Technically, the practice of religion is illegal in Panem, but on Reaping Eve, we can feel safe to send up pleas to a higher Deity (if he or she exists) behind closed doors.

"Heavenly Father, we thank you for uniting our two families in this last year. We thank you for brining these beautiful ladies into our house..." The Baker steals a smiling glance at Primrose and I, then he and Mother lean into each other and share a loving kiss. "And we ask that you spare our children tomorrow from the arena of death. Amen."

"Amen," we all echo. I almost wish the prayer went on for a little longer, was more fervent. For this year, four of the five children in our blended family will be subject to the whims of the Reaping Bowl. At 19, Leven finally aged out last year. But this is Rye's final year (meaning he has the most slips in the bowl out of any of us) and Prim's first. Including tomorrow, Peeta and I still have three Reapings to go, but tomorrow's will be the hardest to slip past unscathed. In Games History class at school, we learned that the median and mode average for teenagers Reaped from District 12 is 16. Other districts skew older or younger for their most common Reaping age, but Twelve floats somewhere near the middle. Heck, Haymitch Abernathy himself - our second, most recent and only living Victor - was 16 years old when he was Reaped for the 50th Hunger Games (a Quarter Quell year) almost twenty-five years ago.

Rye and Prim may have a lot riding on them tomorrow as far as milestones are concerned, but statistically speaking, it would seem that Peeta and I are in the most danger.


	4. 74th Reaping

**Chapter 4: 74th Reaping **

I wake up the morning of Reaping Day to the sound of moaning and groaning coming from the master bedroom down the hall. Rising from my bed, I pad into the hallway on my way to the shower. The door to my parents' room is open just a crack, and against my better judgment, I peek in.

Steffan is astride my mother, gyrating against her insistently and desperately. Mother's knees are open, her legs spread wide, nestling her husband in between them.

"Mmmmm... Oh no..."

"Oh yes..."

"Oh noooooo... Oh Godddddd..."

"Oh yes, yessss... Lillian..."

"Uhhhh... Steffan..."

Wincing, I shy away from the door where my parents are making love and head into the bathroom to shower. The warm water only does a little to calm my brain. I know Mother and Steffan have been consistently trying to have a child. But I can't help but wonder if they crave a baby in the event that one of their children from their previous marriages is Reaped for death today. I wouldn't mind a replacement so much for myself, really. Or even Rye, since he can be such a cad. But Primrose I would be insulted at the replacement of her memory, as I shut the water off and pull back the curtain, reaching for the towel to wrap around myself. Just then, the door opens and I jump back, startled, clapping a hand over my mouth to stifle the scream.

Peeta jerks back in the doorway. "Damn it! I'm sorry, Katniss. I didn't mean to startle you."

I try and scowl, but it shows without effort. "Don't you boys know how to knock?" I catch his eyes roving over my body, despite the fact that my palms cradle and conceal my breasts, and I flush pink. Awkwardly, I reach for my towel, and quickly wrap it around myself as best I can without flashing him. Now minimally decent, I step out of the tub and shuffle to the sink, as Peeta strips down to his boxers. As long as he leaves the bare minimum on until I'm out the door, I don't mind. My stepbrother has a well-built physique. More than a few girls have eyed him at school.

"Are you ready for today?" Peeta asks conversationally.

"No," I scoff as I do my hair in its braid. "Are you?"

"No. It never gets any easier." A pause and then: "Are you going to steal a Reaping Kiss?"

I nearly drop my cup as I almost choke on the water I am using to wash out my toothpaste. The Reaping Kiss is a tradition in District 12. A superstition, really. They say if you kiss someone before the Reaping, you won't be picked. Although I have no reason or evidence to believe it doesn't work, I have gone through the last four Reapings just fine without one. Primrose might try to find someone to kiss before noon today, if only to settle the nerves that I know will be there once she rises. She'd likely make out with Rory Hawthorne, if I didn't have to remind her that he's our cousin.

"No," I finally answer Peeta's question. "Are you?"

Peeta shrugs. "I've kissed Delly Cartwright the last four years, and come out lucky."

"Oh," I say flatly. "Are you seeing her?"

"Nah, we're just friends. It's always been chaste. Although I'm starting to wonder if it's going to lose its efficacy. Reapings are the most dangerous when you're 16."

I know what he means. I hang my head in the sink, trying to even my breathing. I have never believed in superstitions, but if Peeta and statistics are right, I need all the luck I can get. Double the luck, to see that at least I and my baby sister are spared. Maybe I should just find someone at school to push my tongue down their throat and make their day. Get it over with.

Since I'm not looking in the mirror, I can't see what Peeta is doing behind me. Suddenly, I am spun around, pushed up against and bracing the sink. I don't have time to do anything before Peeta's hand is in my hair and his mouth is on mine.

"Mmmm!" I let out a tiny, startled squeak into his lips as they plunder, tightly pressed against my own. My hands find purchase on his chest; realizing this could count as a Reaping Kiss, I hold the lip-lock for a moment, even close my eyes slightly. Peeta's free hand comes to rest lightly on my hip. Then, realizing anew what I am doing, I push him away with a small POP! I wipe my flushed and very kissed mouth along my arm and we gaze at each other, eyes wild.

I make a face. My stepbrother and I just _kissed_! And I kissed him back, a little. "Ew! Let's never do that again!"

Thankfully, Peeta seems to be of the same opinion. "Absolutely." He scrambles into the shower, pulls the curtain and tosses his boxers over the side, before turning on the water cold, full-blast. All the same, I hope that he isn't going to jack off to me in there.

* * *

School has only a half-day on Reaping Day. When I was little, Reaping Day used to be a complete holiday, but Mayor Undersee decided that students' test scores were being adversely affected by having all of Reaping Day off. Whatever that means. Probably because our nerves were all shot, and then we had to watch our neighbors die in the evenings when we should have been doing our homework.

The Reaping is at high noon, so Upper and Lower School release at 11 so we can all return to our homes and get dressed in our finest. I meet Peeta and Rye in the hallway, Peeta and I pointedly not looking at each other. I won't hold it against him for kissing me without my permission - that would seem cruel, especially to family. As long as we agree to never speak of it again, we can forget that it ever happened. Besides, it will be a good test to see if a Reaping Kiss does, in fact, work. Then again, is the power of the Reaping Kiss lost if the kiss was incestuous? Ok, I am way over-thinking this.

As the three of us head downstairs to collect Prim in Lower School and return home to the Bakery, I feel someone fall in step beside us. "You're frowning. That means you're thinking too hard. Just three more times, Katniss. It'll be fine, you'll see."

I send an ever-so-slight smile in Thom's direction. Thom Borden is a Seam kid who comes from a long family of miners. Generations of Bordens have risen to the coveted post of Miner Foreman. From sitting with Thom at the lunch table and hanging out when I find the time - he is one of the few friends I have - I know that being Foreman is his greatest goal in life.

"Stolen a Reaping Kiss yet?" Beside me, I can see Peeta stiffen at Thom's question. In a split-second decision, I hang back with Thom and let my stepbrothers walk on ahead.

"No," I lie. I could have just as easily answered in the affirmative, but then Thom might have asked who it was with, and I can't betray Peeta like that.

Thom smirks. "Well then, how about if I just grabbed you, threw you down and kissed you from head to toe?" I am too shocked to even gape at him. Instead, I cock an eyebrow at him, as if to ask, _Really?_

Thom must take it as a challenge, for in the next second, I am being swung into a dip, and his lips fuse to mine. My silenced gasp parts my mouth for his tongue, and soon he is furiously kissing my mouth, peppering my face. At long last, Thom sweeps me up out of the dip and breaks the kiss roughly.

I gawk at him, stunned. Why is it that every boy in Twelve wants to kiss me all of a sudden? I should slap Thom for what he did, just like I should have slapped Peeta. But I don't have the energy. And since I was just kissed by someone who is not related to me, perhaps I am safeguarded after all. Gathering myself, I race off to catch up with Peeta and Rye.

* * *

Mother dresses her girls in the our finest Merchant clothing. Since she married the Baker, we have had the money to buy more frocks, but I prefer the hand-me-downs we used to wear in the Seam. My blue Reaping dress is the only dress I will tolerate. Mother tighten my hair in its braid, and I tuck in Prim's blouse. "Better tuck in that tail, Little Duck," I smirk.

We Mellarks and Everdeens then depart for the Justice Building. Rye, Prim, Peeta and I check in while Mother, Steffan and Leven stand off to the side. By high noon, the whole District is packed in the square.

Mayor Undersee recites a speech about the Dark Days and then lists the two District 12 Victors. At the call of his name, Haymitch Abernathy predictably makes an ass of himself by toppling headfirst off the stage. He's knackered. Beyond belief. Effie Trinket, our snooty district escort from the Capitol then steps forward to select the two names. I barely have time to shut my eyes before I hear:

"Katniss Everdeen!"

It isn't until the girl beside me shoves me out of line that I begin to mount the stage in a daze. In the twelve-year-olds' pen, I spot Prim, who is looking like she is opening her mouth to say something, but I shake my head, glaring at her to ensure she obeys me. I love my sister dearly, but it's better me than her, and I won't let her go through the shame of being District 12's first volunteer in sentencing herself to death in my place.

Effie moves on to select the boy. I fervently pray that it isn't one of my stepbrothers. Rye's an ass, but can still make me laugh from time to time. And I don't hold any ill will for Peeta, kiss or not. Even in the context of incest, it was a nice kiss that we shared...

But it isn't Peeta or Rye. It's -

"Gale Hawthorne!"

I gape in absolute anguish as my dear cousin and hunting partner takes the stage. One look in his eyes as we shake my hands and I know I cannot bring myself to kill him. We'll surely ally in the arena, but I won't kill him if it comes to that.

Then we tributes are imprisoned in the Justice Building.

* * *

To my shock and even tiny flutter of comfort, there is a steady stream of people to wish me well. Greasy Sae, who I used to trade meat with in the Hob before Mother married again. All my Hawthorne cousins save for Gale and my Aunt Hazelle. Mother, Prim, Steffan and the Mellark boys. Mother looks drained for the first time since Daddy died; Primrose and Peeta are sobbing. For once, Rye is without a joke to lighten the mood.

I hug everyone in turn, holding on to Steffan to whisper, "Take care of them." He's a good man, who will provide for my mother and sister well. I console Peeta, and even dare to kiss him on the cheek, letting him know all is forgiven. My family is at last escorted out by the Peacekeepers.

The last person to visit me is Thom Borden. He looks genuinely stricken, and also a bit remorseful. "I'm sorry I kissed you without your permission. It's just that... I really didn't want to see you picked."

I smile tightly. "It's fine," I tell him. And it is. If I can forgive Peeta for a forced kiss, I can certainly forgive Thom. "And hey, at least we now know the Reaping Kiss is bullshit, right?"

Thom lets out a really strained laugh. "Yeah. Well..." He shrugs. "See ya."

"Yeah," I reply. "See ya."

Neither of us moves. I regard him sadly. Thom really is my best friend, or as close to a best friend as I have. And I pity him, if that coerced kiss meant something to him. I really will miss him...

We suddenly rush into each other's arms at the same moment. Our lips crash into each other and I close my eyes in delirious pleasure instantly. We stagger back and smack into the wall, Thom rutting into me, my hands rummaging up and down his back, going around his neck and into his hair as I purr. "Huhhh... Mmmmm..."

We finally break apart with our eyes wild, gasping and panting, as we hear footsteps approaching the door. A Peacekeeper soon arrives and escorts Thom out. I watch him go, my breasts heaving. As soon as the door closes, I touch a finger to my lips - thoroughly kissed for the third time that day. "What was _that_?" I ask aloud. Quite suddenly, I smirk. "And why do I want to do it again?"

* * *

Haymitch is plastered drunk and of no help on the train. A fed-up Gale storms off to his room soon after dinner. I decide to retire to bed early too, determined to get up in the morning and motivate Haymitch to get off his ass and actually mentor us. As I head out of the bar car and into the corridor, I stop short at who I see stationed by my room.

It's him. The cadet who fatally shot the Witch by accident. I was correct that day about him being young; he can't be much older than Leven. He has a chiseled jaw, a handsome face, sea-green eyes, and flaming red hair that tumbles down to his shoulders. His white-plated Peacekeeper uniform does little to hide the bulging, toned muscles underneath.

The cadet nods to me. "Ms. Everdeen. My name is Peacekeeper Darius Freeman. I will be your security throughout the lead-up to the Games."

"Just Katniss, please," I introduce myself. "Thank you for shooting my stepfather's first wife."

He blinks and then casts his eyes down in embarrassment. Mortified myself, I can think of no way to salvage what I said, or stutter out an apology. Moving past him, I let myself into my room and close the door behind me.


	5. 75th Reaping

**Chapter 5: 75th Reaping **

Using true grit, and a little bit of help from Haymitch, I manage to beat the odds and win the Hunger Games, becoming the third Victor for my district. Allying and hunting together, Gale and I manage to reach the last three together. My beloved cousin falls to the Career from District 2, Cato. I kill Cato in revenge. It is a memory that will haunt me forever.

The train bears me home to District 12, and before we have even rounded the bend, I can see the station is cluttered with people, miners scaling the rooftops, to get a glimpse of their first Victor in nearly 25 years.

I bound off the train and I am soon engulfed by my family. Primrose hugs me as Mother touches nearly every inch of me, weeping. Rye is whooping himself hoarse. Smiling, I even reserve a long hug for Peeta. Then, I spy someone else in the crowd. A face I never thought I'd see again, but that I now look upon in a new light. Pushing my way through the crowd, I stride towards Thom Borden with a resolved look on my face. I don't let him say a word, before I assertively take his face in my hands and passionately return the kiss he first gave me the morning of the Reaping. Thom's arms go about me greedily as he kisses me back, and we tune out the whole of Twelve going up in cheers. My eyes fluttering shut, I don't care if my family is watching me with stupefied looks on their faces. The arena changed me, in ways that were regrettably expected... and ways that were surprisingly unexpected. Tenderly releasing him from the kiss at last, I tell Thom with a weak smile that I hope to show him some of his new side of me in the months and years to come.

* * *

I move into my new mansion high on the hill in Victor's Village. Although I would just prefer to live out the rest of my days with my family in the Bakery, I know the Capitol would never allow that. I still make a point to go into Town daily to work alongside my siblings and parents. It is with great joy, three months after coming home, that Mother and Steffan announce that they are expecting a baby.

Thom Borden moves in with me into my mansion. It is a decision I made on my own, despite the fact that we are not married and only relatives of a Victor are allowed to live with their famous kin in the Village. But I will decide for myself how I live my life. Just as I decide to allow Thom to court me in a romantic relationship. Years of friendship are a good foundation to explore deeper intimacy; even so, kissing and caressing each other results in more than a few giggles.

My first year as a Victor passes quickly by. Before I know it, spring has arrived and with it, Mother and Steffan's child. My baby sister. They name her Violet, keeping up the tradition of flower names for Mother's daughters. The household is now dead even: four boys and four girls. I also feel more than a little smug. Peeta once told me how his mother was always upset that she never had a girl, and that she was always jealous of my mother for being the one Steffan truly loved. It is justice then, that Steffan finally gets a daughter by the woman whom his first wife always unjustly despised.

Unfortunately, with spring also comes the announcement on mandatory programming that the special twist for the 75th Hunger Games will be handed down one evening in March.

"What will they do?" Primrose asks me. "It isn't for months yet."

Mother has a strange look in her eyes as she nurses baby Violet. "It must be the Reading of the Card." That's right... our parents would have been teenagers, roughly my age, the last time a Quell was held and our own Haymitch Abernathy won the Crown.

The night of the broadcast, Thom and I invite all of my family over to my mansion to watch the card reading. Anti-social though he may be, I manage to browbeat Haymitch into joining us from next door. He's generally a decent enough neighbor, when he isn't yelling in drunken delusions. Most of the time, he just lays about and sleeps and leaves me alone, which is just fine.

Every quarter-century, a special Games, called a Quarter Quell, has been held to commemorate the defeat of the rebels at the hands of the Capitol. I have never been alive for one, and I only know about it from school. A lesson is devoted to the 2nd Quarter Quell, for that is the year our very own Haymitch Abernathy won the Crown. One semester, our only living Victor was even invited to give a presentation. Haymitch arrived stumbling drunk, and threw up halfway through his lecture. The boys thought it was funny. I did not.

Mother jiggles the antenna so that the screen clears and we see President Snow begin by reciting the twists of the past two Quells. "On the 25th anniversary, as a reminder that it was the district's choice to initiate violence, each district was made to hold a special election and vote on the tributes who would represent it."

I wonder what that must have been like. Picking the kids who had to go. It is worse, I think, to be turned over by your neighbors than by the mere whims of the Reaping Bowl. No doubt District 12 saw it as an opportunity to get rid of some dead weight; two Seam kids from the Community Home almost certainly went that year.

"On the 50th anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for every Capitol citizen, the districts had to send twice as many tributes."

I imagine having to face a field of 47 instead of 23. But old Haymitch Abernathy did, and somehow came home alive. Throughout the year, the editions of past Games have sometimes been re-aired. To the best of my knowledge, Haymitch's Games never has been rebroadcast. I wonder why...?

The President is now procuring a slip of paper from an envelope. "On the 75th anniversary, as a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes are to be Reaped from their existing pool of Victors."

Mother lets out a shriek and Prim buries her face in her hands. Peeta looks aghast, the palest and most hopeless I have ever seen him. Thom clasps my hand and squeezes it, though I don't feel it. I jump as there is a sudden yell, when Haymitch hurls a nearly still-full bottle of liquor at the screen, short-circuiting the television.

I am going back into the arena... with Haymitch. With only one male and one female Victor still living, District 12 barely fulfills the twist. And they wouldn't be able to, if I hadn't won last year. Haymitch's mentor - a woman by the name of Cassiope Fletch who triumphed in one of the earliest Games - passed away years ago, before Peeta and I were born.

It really is a cruel twist, in a way. Victors are supposed to be exempt from the Reaping for life. That's the deal if you win. Cheating death affords us power and prestige as the elite of our district. Now 23 of us will be killed to send the message that that hope was an illusion.

Will Haymitch be my ally in there? Will he try to keep me and himself alive while on withdrawal from alcohol in an arena full of his old friends? With odds like that, can we succeed?

Once I dismiss everyone for the night, I wordlessly take Thom's hand. With an expression at once soft and no-nonsense, I guide him up the stairs to my room. Pushing him onto the mattress of my bed, I move to straddle him, pulling my tunic over my head and unbuckling his pants. Kissing him deeply, I come down on him and make love to him.

"Hmmmm... Mmmmmm..." I sigh. Moaning and groaning and thrusting against each other, we have sex. Before Thom, I had always eschewed romance and making love. But if anyone deserves to fuck me, and for me to fuck in return, it's Thom. At least, I can say I lost my virginity before I die...

* * *

The day of the Reaping dawns hot and sultry. There are no Reaping pens this time. I dismissed Thom with a passionate kiss at first light, not wanting the Peacekeepers to catch him when they arrived in the Village to escort me and Haymitch to the Square under heavy guard.

Effie Trinket lacks her usual verve, as she approaches the individual bowls that are so unnecessary, to only have one name in each of them.

"The female tribute from District 12... Katniss Everdeen." A single tear rolls down my cheek and I look to my family. My baby sister wailing in my mother's arms.

"The male tribute from District 12... Haymitch Abernathy." Haymitch just hangs his head.

We both perform the three-fingered salute, and Haymitch and I are led roughly away... straight to the train, to my shock. Last-year's champion and the champion of the previous Quell, tributes once again. And we didn't even get to say goodbye to our loved ones.

* * *

Darius Freeman at least has the decency to appear apologetic after dinner, which Haymitch and I spent watching the Reaping of our competition. Most of the Victors selected skew to Haymitch's age and even older. At least three, a 40-something Career from District 2, a one-armed man from 11 and a man from 7 are Haymitch's peer. Two others, from Four and Eight, are elderly, with both tributes from District 3 and the woman from 11 not far behind. I am far and away the youngest tribute Reaped, with my closest adversary in age being Johanna Mason from District 7. The only living female Victor from her district like me, she won a few years before I did. The Victors from District 10, as well as the Morphling male from Six, also appear quite young.

"You and Haymitch should be top contenders. At least half of the competition will be wiped out within the first day. Drug addicts, drunks, old folks and a cripple will only get so far." I want to say that Haymitch technically falls into that pathetic category, until I remember that Haymitch has been gamely withdrawing himself off the alcohol for weeks. And he's the only Victor alive who has been in a Quell and lived to tell the tale; the man from District 8 who won the 25th Games or First Quarter Quell is apparently long dead. No, I wouldn't count Haymitch out, and I appreciate that Darius doesn't, either.

"Your biggest threat will be the guy from District 4."

"Four? Why Four? Why would you say that?" I perk up.

"I'm from Four, originally. I grew up by the sugar cane fields along the water there. Young men and women who test well in school are sent to the Academy in District 2 for further Peacekeeper training, instead of enrolling straight into the Career training camps. And..." he blushes. "I'm not supposed to know, but my brother may have won the Hunger Games."

I glance back to the TV, where I can see them covering Finnick Odair, the handsome man who won the Games ten years ago at the age of 14. The youngest Victor ever. With a start, I realize... I can see the resemblance. Finnick's hair is more bronze in color, but he and Darius have the same build. The same sea-green eyes...

"Is there anything else that you require, Ms. Everdeen?" Darius's voice once again jostles me from my thoughts. I stare at the man who via one mistake inadvertently put me on the path to a better life and I genuinely smile. "No, Darius."

"Please, call me Dar."

I smile wider. "OK... Dar."


	6. Fleeing For Freedom

**Chapter 6: Fleeing for Freedom**

The plasmic roar of the lightning has scarcely dissipated before I spy the gaping hole in the forcefield of the arena. Through the hazy shimmer induced by the flames all around us, I can make out a familiar face in a Peacekeeper's uniform and with flaming red hair waving us on.

"VICTORS! Over here!"

The six survivors of the Quell sprint through the flames to the hole. Finnick and I have to pick up and carry a wounded Beetee between us. Enobaria leaps through the hole first like a gazelle and disappears into the darkness of the Capitol beyond. Johanna follows, supporting a staggering and exhausted Haymitch, as they make their way to an aircraft carrier with blinding lights. Stepping through the gap, Finnick takes Beetee from me, throwing him into a fireman's lift and setting off for the aircraft at a hard jog. I turn back to Darius.

"Dar... thank you." He has saved me. Once again.

Darius just smiles. "Go, Ms. Everdeen. Kick the Capitol's butt."

I beam at him. Beyond grateful, I dare to peck him on the cheek in farewelll, before sprinting to catch up with Finnick, board the plane and dash for freedom.

* * *

Plutarch Heavensbee, the Head Gamemaker, reveals his Rebel intentions as he takes us to District 13, long thought destroyed. It has really been surviving underground to wage war against the Capitol when the moment is right. And apparently, I am that moment. The Mockingjay.

I reunite with my family down in the depths of the new district. Steffan. Mother. My stepbrothers. My sisters. They all managed to run for the district fence and the woods when the Capitol started dropping firebombs at the end of the Quell. With great sadness, however, I am told that my boyfriend of one year is not among the survivors. Thom... poor Thom... I mourn for my boyfriend, lover and best friend. He so wanted to be Miner Foreman... to get married and have children... If he had asked me to marry him, I just might have said Yes. Agreed to a Toasting.

Somehow, District 13 manages to cram eight people into one apartment. They are loathe to split families up, even an unusually large, blended one like ours. Daily bomb drills force us to delve deeper underground into large bomb shelter vaults from time to time. When not in hiding, I am shooting propaganda videos for the cause. But I am never allowed to go out with my bow on the front lines. President Alma Coin wants to wait until the tide has turned in our favor, until I am ready.

* * *

By the next spring, District 13 invades the Capitol and assassinates President Snow. The war is over, and we are allowed to come out from underground and out of hiding.

We Mellark-Everdeens return to our homeland of District 12, to find with dismay that our Bakery has been destroyed. The whole district has been leveled; only the Victor's Village and the Justice Building remain intact.

With our birthplace woefully inhospitable, our family decides that we must seek asylum in another district. But none of us can decide which district that should be, so we painfully decide to split up. Mother and Steffan will of course stay together, living out the rest of their days married and raising their daughter. Primrose will go with them, to seek work as a Healer in District 2. My brothers, the Mellark boys, decide to try their luck in District 11, which produces plenty of grains; maybe they can restart the family bakery there. Haymitch Abernathy resolves to return to the Capitol and track down Effie Trinket; I suspect that his reasons are motivated partly by economics and alcohol craving, partly by passion...

As for me, I decide to go to District 4. Something is calling me there, and I soon realize that I have a desire to find Darius. He didn't come with us to Thirteen after freeing us from the arena, and I hope nothing terrible happened to him.

* * *

I step off the train and into District 4 the next day, clad in my blue Reaping dress. With a cloak wrapped around myself in a brooch at my neck, I tighten it about me as I step away from the station and disappear anonymously into the throng of District 4 residents and refugees.

I know that Darius Freeman - really, Darius Freeman Odair - grew up in District 4, so it is the first, most-logical place I would look. Normally, I would start by going to their Victors' Village and asking Finnick where his little brother might be, but poor Finnick is dead. Killed during the war on a mission for the Rebels.

Perhaps the government of District 4 can help me. Though Darius was taken from his homeland when he was young, surely Four has birth records of the young men born here, especially those who grew up to be Peacekeepers? So, I approach the Justice Building.

District 4's Justice Building is a dark, gothic and imposing structure, resembling a castle in architecture. Rounding the back, I decide to inquire into Darius's fate at the servant entrance, bisected by a deserted street, when I come upon a wild creature that makes me stumble back with a scream.

It's a mutt, a chimera of ugliness and ferocity. He has the head structure and horns of a buffalo, the arms and body of a bear, the eyebrows of a gorilla, the jaw and teeth and mane of a lion, and the legs and tail of a wolf. As I draw closer, I happen to look into his eyes... They are... sea-green?

I dare to hope. "Darius?" I ask.

The mutt doesn't respond, but instead collapses. Against my better judgement, I rush to him and hold him. "Darius, if that's you in there... I've been trying to find you... I have nowhere else to go, and you were always so kind to me... Please... I'll stay with you. I love you."

No response. The mutt appears to be dead. In my experience from my first Games, I have always suspected that people were captured and turned into mutts by the Capitol. Could Darius have been branded a traitor and suffered a similar fate? And now he might very well be dead because he was associated with me. Throwing myself over the body, I begin to weep. For a long time, there is silence, as a soft rain falls, joining in with my tears.

Then the rain starts to shimmer with magic. There is a whooshing, glittering sound as sparkling meteors of light fall around us. For a moment, I don't notice it, but when I finally raise my head off the mutt's chest, my eyes widen in shock. Then the mutt starts to shift under me and my hands, his chest leading as he rises into the air. I draw back, a hand going to my brooch, as I watch in astonishment, my eyes bulging even bigger while the meteors pelt down on us in a steady torrent. The wind picks up, blowing my loose brown hair back. Slowly, I stand onto shaky legs, the ground at my feet now covered in glittering specks. The mutt is lifted into the air, led by a burgundy cloak as his body starts to rotate around. I stare, both wary and curious, as the cloak wraps around the mutt, trapping his body in a cocoon. The mutt squirms a little, before suddenly, a giant paw reaches out from under the cloak. The hair and fur disappears, revealing smooth skin of an outstretched hand, a flash of light splaying from the splayed tips of his fingers. I draw back further, pushing my flowing hair out of my face. A hairy padfoot extends out, the fur also disappearing to reveal smooth skin and toes, which light also shoots out from. The mutt begins spinning a little faster, revealing his face. A gust of wind blows through his mane, then it too starts to fade, the horns retract, soon revealing in a final blinding flash of light a smooth, human face. The face of a man.

I watch, my eyes wide in utter shock and astonishment, as the man is floated gently back to earth, cradled in his burgundy cloak like it is some kind of parachute to break his fall. The shimmering rain is falling with a fury now, but I don't notice it, as the handsome man lands on the dusty cobblestone street and lies still.

Tentatively, I approach the body, reaching out a hand until the unconscious form quite suddenly moves as it takes a sharp breath. I fling back, startled, as the figure rises on unsteady feet, examines his hands and then turns about to face me.

I gaze at the stranger, one hand to my mouth in astonishment, as my eyes alight with hope. Could it be? It certainly looks like...

"Katniss... it's me." He takes my hand with an easy smile and I flinch just a little, even as I scrutinize him.

I peer at him skeptically, curiously and even a little amused. Lifting a hand, and only briefly drawing it back, I begin to run my fingers curiously through his long locks of red hair. It's down well past his shoulders now, and my Seam grey eyes shift to gaze into his eyes.

His sea-green eyes...

My eyes light up as my face also breaks into a beaming smile of relief and recognition. "It _is_ you!" I cry joyously, reaching out to cup his face. Darius Freeman Odair beams before running a giant hand through my hair, pushing it aside as he caresses my face. I lean into his touch, smiling shyly and our eyes meet. My fingers drop from his chin to find purchase on his toned chest, as I feel Darius's hands cradle my face, tilt it back. My eyes soften, grow heavy, then close completely as Darius and I close the gap and our lips meet in a searing kiss.

All at once, a blue tornado of light engulfs us as the wind picks up around us both. My one arm reaches up to sling itself around Darius's neck, as his arms wind about my waist. My one hand disappears into his lovely red hair, the other fists the white fabric of his ripped tunic. My flowing brown hair literally stands on end as we deepen the kiss. And then, there is a piercing shriek as the blue light peels into the heavens above us, setting off a round of fireworks that whizz and explode in the nighttime sky above District 4.

* * *

Many other mutts have been transformed and reunited with their loved ones. When Darius asks me to marry him and I happily say Yes, he literally hoists me into the air, picking me up and spinning me around. When he sets me down, it seems, we are standing in the living room of the vacated mansion in Victors' Village we moved into not long after finding each other. I am wearing my mother's wedding dress, having written ahead to District 2 to obtain it.

Feeding each other a piece of burnt toast, as is District 12 tradition, Darius and I embrace and kiss, marrying in the presence of Annie Cresta, Finnick Odair's wife, and her son - my new little nephew by marriage - Finnick Odair Jr. Annie serenades us with a wedding song as I circle my new husband, incorporating a District 4 wedding tradition.

Later, dressed in my blue Reaping frock, I accompany Darius to the District 4 Justice Building. We stand before the district clerk and the Justice of the Peace and exchange vows. The clerk signs our marriage license, the Governor of District 4 stamps it with his seal, and Darius and I passionately kiss, now pronounced man and wife.

* * *

They play in the Village. My daughter with her long brown hair, trying to catch up on chubby legs with her older cousin. I watch my family as I nurse my infant son at my breast under the shade of a tree, the sound of the waves lapping at the shore just down the cliffs from us. Annie, my sister-in-law, waves to me.

The rest of my family keeps in touch. My brothers - Leven, Rye and Peeta - all went into business together in District 11. Each have married and begun having children; the photographs line my wall. In his letters, Peeta laughs about the foolish kiss we shared, and I laugh with him, genuinely happy for him.

Steffan and Mother have grown old together in District 2. Violet is 16 now, and wants to become a Healer, like her mother and aunt. Primrose is approaching 30, recently married a man who was a Captain in the District 2 Loyalist Army fighting against the rebels during the war. His name is Theseus; they are expecting their first child - a baby boy - come the spring.

Who would have thought that my life - that all our lives - would be sent on such a dizzyingly different trajectory by the bullet of one Peacekeeper: the Peacekeeper who is now my husband and the father of my children? It's a strange Game, that I have played, but I know well that there are much worse Games to play.


End file.
